Crystal Blue Persuasion
by Cosmic Scheherazade
Summary: Tali and Garrus are in the early stages of their relationship when she asks him - in no uncertain terms - to go down on her. Given Tali's suit restrictions, however, Garrus has to do some special shopping to prepare. Kmeme fill - Set during ME2 prior to Garrus' and Tali's loyalty missions. WIP-will be multiple chapters. Definitions for "AU" words will appear in footnotes.
1. Chapter 1: Curious Propositions

Engineering was quiet, with nothing but the monotonous thrum of the drive core to insert itself between their thoughts. Garrus pulled uncomfortably on the collar of his tunic. He hated these civvies. He hadn't bought a new set since Shepard plucked him out of that cesspool, and it showed. Scorch marks dotted his pants, but his tunic was worse: what had once been cobalt as rich as his blood was now closer to the icy shade of his eyes. He'd washed it so many times it was pilling all over and itched like hell. Such a sorry excuse for a turian he was in those clothes, but Tali had insisted, said she wanted to see what he might wear if he took her out on a proper date. He couldn't take her anywhere in these duds, but she had seen him in worse shape, she'd reminded him with a jab to the abdomen as she recounted with devious glee the time her trusty shotgun had saved his ass from certain annihilation back on Ilos. He was sure he'd never live it down, but to hear the tale spun by that exotic, lilting voice was worth all the cracks she hammered into his ego.

Still, despite his haggard appearance, she made no attempt to leave. She practically melted into his arms when he ran his hand over the bubbled swell of her hip, relishing those soft curves he had spent many a night running his mouth across in his most lurid dreams. Tali was lost in a dream of her own as she drug her fingers up and down the thighs wrapped around her, relishing the wiry strength of his muscles. Seeing that blue helmet pop out of cover to snipe a destroyer had sent her heart fluttering into her throat back on Haestrom. How could it have been just a few weeks since they reunited? It all happened so fast, but there they were, and she was happy. Finally.

"I'm ready, Garrus," she whispered, her small hands wrapping around his wrists to yank him to his feet.

Ready? Spirits. He'd lost count of the fantasies, each of them unique and somehow more salacious than the last. Sometimes he'd take her from behind, an arm wrapped under her taut belly to hold her against his chest as she pressed her bare fingers into her delicate opening. Other times he'd be on top of her, her legs wrapped around his cowl, delicious pressure on his shoulders as he thrust deep into her womb. But the best ones – the ones he'd always remember – were slow, languid, and torturous. For both of them.

_She straddled him, fully clothed from the waist up, all smooth pale curves below. He gripped her there at the flare of her hips, talons digging into both flesh and fabric, pulling her flushed, damp core toward him. She'd shiver, unused to the conditioned air against her bare skin, so he pursed his mouthplates together and blew a slow tangle of warm breath down her slit, eliciting such a gutteral moan it filled the whole battery. He'd tease her that way for ages, holding her just out of reach of his mouth as he puffed quiet promises into her throbbing flesh. She'd buck her hips involuntarily, murmuring beautiful alien words that glossed past his translator like slippery stars. She begged him to fuck her in such depraved ways it would make a vorcha blush, babbling glitchy obscenities as she milked his cock with both hands to keep her mind from the release he was denying her. Deliberately, slow as gunsam^, he ran his tongue flat up her cunt, lapping up her ambrosial tang, teasing the pliant ring at her opening with little wet flicks before plunging in and curling over her inner buds. The shock of pleasure jolted her sensitive nerves into such a frenzy that she clenched her thighs against his mandibles even tighter than her walls gripped his tongue. Spirits, and she moaned his name so deeply it reverberated in her throat, feral and ravenous and..._

He'd wake up in a cold sweat from those dreams, cock aching at attention as if he could taste her arousal. Fuck, he wanted this. Her. But the dangers… if he lacerated her suit, didn't decontaminate properly… they couldn't. Not yet.

"Are you sure? We don't have to—"

"I'm sure, Garrus. The stims are fine, and I really enjoy taking…" she coughed, for emphasis, a gloved hand drifting to rub the crease between his pelvic plates, "…care… of you." She reached up to stroke his fringe with the other, gently tugging on the ends the way she always did when she required his rapt – if not a bit aroused – attention. "But there's only so much we can do when I'm in my suit. I need to feel you, not just the electronic illusion of you. Skin on skin. Skin on… plates. Well, you know."

Blue heat coiled tight in his groin at the thought. He pulled her into him and rested his cheek against the smooth silk of her veil. "You're still sick, Tali. When the fever subsides, I'll make your legs quiver like you were still a young thing on her Pilgrimage, but you can't be out of your suit yet." He shifted so his forehead could rest against her faceplate. " But I'll make it worth the wait, I promise. The next time I'm planet-side, I'll make sure my firefight chatter is especially, uh, exhilarating."

Tali stiffened. How did he know? There's no way he could trace the program she used. Not with his tech skills.

Garrus chuckled and grabbed her ass, kneading it with his blunt talons as he held her against his chest. "I know you hacked my earpiece, Tali. The feedback is different, more white noise." Her breaths grew shallower with his every word until she was practically panting, her fingers digging into the dip of his hips as he massaged her. "Well, I know someone hacked it. I don't think Legion has a fetish for organics, and Kasumi's already more or less betrothed herself to Jacob, so that leaves—" He glanced at his readout to check her vitals and let out a quiet growl. Heart rate elevated, eyes dilated, basal body temperature ten percent above average. Well. Clever girl. "—you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she whispered, leaning into him – challenging him - allowing her breasts to graze his tunic, "and I resent the implication." She doubted he could feel her nipples through the suit, but keelah, it sent sparks all the way through to her fingertips. Still, she swore she could hear faint subharmonics – was he cooing? - in rhythmic tandem with her own heavy breathing.

He continued, keeping any modicum of composure he could muster: "I applaud the ingenuity, though; it took me a few days to figure out it was you and not just a comm. glitch. I had intended to keep it a secret and drive you crazy for awhile. You know, a little friendly payback, just between friends."

His last words poured out like honey, teasing and sweet and suffocating. "I thought since you're always flirting with me while I'm calibrating the cannons, I should return the favor. Maybe find out which of my favorite in-battle catchphrases makes you as wet as you are right now." If he hadn't been cooing before, he was now, and his hand was rubbing delicious valleys into the crotch of her suit.

Tali nearly refuted his last point, or at least she would have if she could form a cogent argument between her gasps, but she knew that damn visor could read her biometrics, all of them, and that just made her wetter. Still, this sexual volleying was getting him worked up too, though he wasted far too much energy to hide it. He could read her, sure, but she knew him better. "I already know you talk a good game, Garrus, but I'm more interested in seeing if you can – how does Shepard say it? – walk the walk, if you catch my drift."

A hand caught his scarred mandible, gently of course, but there was intent in the caress, and Garrus felt it all the way down in his bones. He didn't know what it meant, but spirits, he felt it, and it was testing the tensile strength of his pants.

"You'll, uh, have to be more specific."

"Will I?" She kept her left hand on his cheek, but the right had other plans once her gaze caught the bulge in his trousers. "You seem to understand my intention well enough, but if I have to be blunt…" Her free hand disappeared into his pants and gripped his thick base with an expert squeeze, earning her a gloriously frustrated growl in return as Garrus shimmied out of them. She continued the maddening strokes, sinking to her knees to get a better view.

"Then I will be blunt. If we were in a clean room right now, I would take you into my mouth so deep you'd hit the back of my throat. I bet it would make your eyes roll back in your head. And then I'd swirl my tongue around the tip, just… like… this…" she whispered as she mimicked the motions with her fingers.

Ragged breaths tore through his throat so fast he could hardly squeeze out the room to speak. "Stop, Tali." Squeeze. "Not here." Pump. His veins were on fire.

"Tell me what you want." Two quick strokes. A third. "And please, be specific."

"I… I want…"

"What, Garrus?"

"I want to see you."

"Ah-ah," she chided. "Specifics."

She pumped in earnest now as he cradled the back of her head. He tried imagining what her fringe – hair – looked like: if it was dark like Miranda's or red like Kelly's or another color completely; how it fell across her shoulders without the veil to restrain it. He could feel it through the fabric, smooth like thousands of tiny cables.

He made a series of unintelligible grunts, but nothing resembling speech. Tali was pleased. Yes, quite pleased indeed.

"Do you need some help?"

He nodded, curling his toes into the dimples on the floor as if it'd be enough to keep him upright.

"Poor Garrus, no smart little quip for me now? If I had known this was all it took to shut you up, I'd have done it back when you were whining about the cold on Noveria."

Restrained talons clamped onto her shoulders. His fringe prickled like static. He was so close. "Sh…"

"You want me to be quiet now?" Her motions had slowed considerably by now, her hands gripping him with gentler pressure than before. She memorized every ridge, every navy birthmark as she massaged him. "Wouldn't you rather I tell you how much I want you to stretch me out until I scream? Or that I fantasize about the way your cum tastes when I run my nerve stim? That I want you to break us into your old C-Sec office and bend me over the desk and smack my ass, fuck me like… like…"

But the filthy, silly words stuck to the roof of her mouth like tar as a tickle bubbled up into her throat. It had all sounded so much sexier in her head. Even the cheesiest dialogue in the worst vids could excite her well enough, but keelah, it was something else entirely when it came out of her own mouth. She wanted to do these things, not talk about them! Really, _smack my ass_? It was a preposterous and hilarious pastiche, a greatest hits collection of bad porn tropes, and Tali was the star of them all.

Well, that did it. Before she could finish her suggestive reverie, Tali'Zorah vas Neema erupted and collapsed in a fit of uncontrollable laughter on the floor of the Normandy's engine room. Her landing would have been most painful had she been standing, but as it was she crumpled onto the deck with a quiet, clumsy thud as her howls pealed off the walls. Above her, Garrus Vakarian stood dumbstruck, partially nude and inconveniently hard.

"Oh, keelah! I'm sorry, Garrus, I—" She struggled to catch her breath as her laughs broke into wheezes and hot tears ran into her mouth. "I sound so stupid! How do those vid girls keep a straight face when they talk like that?"

Garrus let out a hearty laugh of his own at the ridiculous scene, but he'd be a fool he claimed seeing her writhing at his feet didn't send sharp pangs to places they didn't belong. He pulled her to her feet and helped brush dust off her suit. He chose not to bother with his pants. He rather enjoyed the circulated air on his bare plates.

"That was… unexpected," he murmured into her earpiece once her giggles – and his erection – subsided. "And now you've got me thinking about what exactly it is you want. A daft turian like me needs specifics, remember? I liked the direction you were headed in. It's a shame you couldn't tell me."

"But I can show you. Come here."

Tali nuzzled his chest for a moment, then grabbed his hand to lead him over to her console. Dozens of datapads lay scattered across her controls; it was a wonder she could get anything done through the clutter, but she always managed. She ducked beneath her bench to grab something she must have adhered to the underside of the console: a tiny orange omnichip that couldn't have been larger than the tip of his talon.

"I can never remember the passcode for this damn thing…" She studied the chip for a moment, then punched a flurry of numbers into her omnitool and swore under her breath when it responded with an angry beep. "What the… right, transposed the zero and the eight." More hurried taps. "There, that should do it."

"I hate to break it to you, Tali, but if this is about getting busy the engine room, I think Shepard and Lawson beat us to it. I don't think the briefing room's been claimed yet, though." He was smirking, that bosh'tet, leaning back on his heels like a tor'zhan. That cocky, rugged, unabashedly charming bosh'tet.

Garrus would have continued his playful barrage indefinitely if Tali's omnitool hadn't pinged on at just that moment with an image that made his mandibles go slack and shifted his plates wide open. It's a good thing he'd decided against the pants.

The still was grainy, probably a few decades old, but it clearly showed a nude quarian female – Spirits, that waist! – supine on an antique Hanshan table, legs spread so wide Garrus thought they might rip clean off if she stretched them for too long. Between her pale, beautifully sculpted legs was a male turian, also naked, a bit darker than Garrus, resting on his stomach, servicing her.

A giddy smile formed behind the fog in Tali's helmet as she took Garrus' hand in her own and played the vid. She spoke quietly, almost reverently, as sporadic yellow flashes lit the softened angles of his civvies. Well, the top half of his civvies.

"This is what I meant by 'walk the walk,' Garrus. Before I killed the mood with my graceful acrobatics, I mean. I'm fairly certain that you could get me off with that voice of yours alone, but I've been… curious… about what else you can do with your mouth. Your tongue," she corrected, quickly, with a silent thanks to the ancestors that he couldn't see how flushed her cheeks were. "If you want to, I mean. Now that my feminine mystique is ruined for you, I hope you'll still consider it." Her voice broke like it always did when she babbled that way, but she could always blame it on helmet acoustics.

A slender talon reached up to pause the vid so he could regard her as she deserved. "First of all, Tali, you seem to forget that I'm pretty smitten with you. I know I'm dense, even by turian standards, but it's going to take a lot more than that to drive me away, now that I know exactly what you're capable of," he said with a wink. He just couldn't help himself, that smarmy bastard. Even with his dick on parade he could still make her blush.

"And more importantly," he continued, lowering his voice to a rumble, "have you worked some sort of quarian magic to hack the cameras in the battery too? You have no idea how much I've wanted to, uh, pleasure you that way. Damn, that sounded creepy, " he said, clearly uncomfortable, as if his words might rearrange themselves if he had spoken them any less carefully.

The two were quiet for little more than a beat, but a great deal passed between them during the silence. Eventually, Tali sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him into her so she could take him in. It was impossible to describe, the way he smelled just then, how he always smelled. Like an idea, some fabled nostalgia that had been passed down to her since she was enveloped in the bubble. But she knew these secondhand stories; they were all she knew – axioms that had been warped by someone else, colored by a history that wasn't hers. This was different. Garrus was… different. _Unfiltered_. She wondered if he could possibly understand the connotations that were tied to that word. The vulnerability, the trust it implied. Yet the uncertainty imbued her with a clear sense of purpose, a conviction that this wasn't an opportunity to be wasted. He was precious to her, and she would show him.

Garrus wished they could spend more time like this, alone and together. It was a luxury so rarely afforded and even more easily squandered, and he wondered if he had made a mistake in teasing her so mercilessly. She possessed a vulnerable wisdom unparalleled by anyone he had ever met, and she. She was laid-back and incisively witty, but the part of her he loved best – Spirits, he loved her, didn't he? – was her uncanny ability to always be _Tali_. No one but Tali could talk him off better than an asari dancer and then double over as a result of her own efforts.

Since Haestrom he had tried to convince himself that he simply respected her grit, enjoyed her horrible jokes – but sometime between stories in the cargo hold of the SR-1 and the moment the initial twang of her voice sent his heart plummeting into his boots back on that rock, she had charmed him.

The greatest loves of history have all been formed in this liminal space, in silence. The bond of kindred spirits is simply too tremendous for spoken words to grasp.

It was Tali who broke their intimate silence. "We are a pair, aren't we? I've… been wanting to show this to you for awhile. It took me a few months to find one with a turian; most quarian pornography is species-specific, you know, and there's nothing on the extranet, can you believe that? And I know where to look. I had to ask Liara for help. Keelah, that was embarrassing…"

"Hang on, Tali. Months?" It had only been three weeks since they reunited, though they had wasted little time kindling their fledgling romance. Still, the implication thrilled him: she had been thinking of him too.

"You heard me," she drawled before flicking her translator off: "Garrus Va'karian." She had never spoken his surname that way before, using a full glottal stop after the first syllable: a perfect, smooth Cipritine accent, not marred with a rough rolling "r" or too nasal in the final syllable. Spirits, now he was the one thinking about tongues. If she could master his language, there's no telling what she could—

Before his eyes could glaze over, Tali continued, rubbing little circles into his leathery palms. "We can do this, Garrus. Dr. Chakwas has been monitoring my herbal supplements and my new immuno-boosters will allow for a small amount of contamination, provided it can be compartmentalized. So I can't take off my suit entirely, not even my helmet, not the first time anyway, and we'll have to be careful, really careful. And I'll need your help with disinfection. But this… this we can do. And I want you to. I have for a long time."

"Months, apparently." That smirk again. Damn it.

"Shut up, _bosh'tet_."

* * *

^: gunsam, am - a sweet resin extracted from the bark of the Gothos ash fir tree; it is often used as a sweetener in turian desserts, specifically in the Cipritine region of Palaven; similar in taste and structure to human molasses.

*: tor'zhan, -ai - an old Khelish term that has no analogous translation in either Galactic Common or English, but refers to an old order of agricultural workers , typically male, who raised birds and large water fowl on the plantations of Rannoch. Considered to be rugged and self-assured, tor'zhai were nomadic, mysterious, and considered the archetypal quarian male until the geth uprising.


	2. Chapter 2: Garrus Goes Shopping

Garrus' mandibles tightened into a scowl as he pored through the holographic display. Screen after screen of lotions, creams, ointments, and jellies blurred past him like some sort of erotic nightmare. He _really_ should have watched more vids.

"Now with sanitizing microbeads!" one boasted. "A zesty cooling effect for her pleasure!" Zesty? Really? He flashed on the bottle of levo salad dressing in the Normandy's refrigerator that advertised in kind. That was one mental image he could do without, and he quickly dismissed it with a shake of his head. He was familiar with the human idiom for the act they were preparing for, but this particular correlation was just… wrong. Garrus had learned enough about quarian anatomy to know Tali was not shaped like a salad – he had all but memorized _those_ vids – and if his dreams were any indication, she wouldn't want to taste like one, either. Damn it, now he was hungry.

But maybe that _was_ something she wanted… Her instructions had been vague, after all. He glanced at the list she had pinged him: intimate cleanser for her, lozenges for him. Not a single caveat, no hint to her preferences. She did it on purpose to mess with him and make him sweat, Garrus decided. He would have deserved it after all the relentless teasing. How was a turian supposed to know that "eating out" didn't imply food play? None of the vids he downloaded mentioned anything about taste or customs, and the one they'd watched together was of such poor quality that it was impossible to see detail, so he had no choice but to fill in the gaps the best he could, and apparently that meant… salad. Damn, and wasn't there some other euphemism that actually involved salad, specifically? That couldn't be a coincidence. All he wanted to do was make Tali happy. Who knew making his girl feel good would be so exasperating?

All unseemly analogies aside, Tali always complained about being cold, he remembered. That settled it, then. Cool and zesty wouldn't do at all. But even with Zesty Salad Dressing eliminated as a contender, there remained enough choices to lubricate a Taetrus whorehouse. Would one tube even be enough? Did they all serve the same function? They seemed to be organized and separated by color, not by formula or manufacturer. Naturally, Garrus gravitated toward the blue section of the catalog, but a quick glance at the ingredient list had him frowning again. Most of the tubes' contents were innocuous enough: purified water, a few hydroponic herbs cultivated on the liveships, and the occasional seed oil; what had Garrus scratching furiously at the back of his neck, however, was the single ingredient in all of them: drogha berry extract.

* * *

Garrus was wont to admit it now, but as a wee boy he had been quite the adventurer – gilded summer afternoons were often spent skipping across outcrops of slippery rocks in shallower parts of the Capitoline River, searching the pockets of darkness beneath the stones for the same grand, arcane treasures that were chronicled in his pirate stories.

One particular morning, young Garrus had left the house without a breakfast. It didn't occur to him to mind until his stomach started to gurgle like a drowning varren a few hours later. He was deep in the woods by then, and on the trail. He couldn't head back; it would take too long and he'd lose his place and his treasure along with it. No, pirates ate in the wild. He would be fine. _It'll put plates on your hide_, his dad would have told him. His grandpa Titus had once mentioned that he survived on tiny dark berries for two weeks straight when he was stationed on Galatana. Yes, berries would be a perfect breakfast for an adventurer, and it just so happened that a cluster of shrubs along the river were dotted with the very same berries! What a find!

He scrambled over to the bushes and plucked a handful of the black spheres, then stuffed the whole fist of them right in his mouth and swallowed them whole. He grabbed another handful from an adjacent branch and mashed them into his teeth, sucking on the seedy pulp with delightful relish. But by the time the first globule of mushy juice trickled from his chin to the silted clay below, his little stomach had twisted into a horrible knot and his face had broken out in dark, burning welts. He dropped to his knees and howled, his soft talons clawing at his throat, which too had broken out in an itchy rash as dark as the night sky.

In those days that section of the river was a popular spot among fly-fishermen. On any given day the surface of the river practically gleamed from the reflection of the palladium poles. All manner of wild royal pescati swam the depths of that river, their scales such a verdant green that the water actually glittered like a sea of emeralds during the spawning season. It was a beautiful sight, the Capitoline River in summer: a jewel all its own.

But little Garrus wanted more than the treasure that swam in the river, and he was not the first boy to fall victim to the deceptive fruit. The Palaven Division of Forestry estimated that seventeen children fell ill that year by the same berries that were ripping apart Garrus' insides. Drogha berries weren't inherently dangerous for most people, but an antioxidant in the flesh of the berries was impossible for some turians – our little Garrus included – to digest, and the resulting allergic reaction was quite unpleasant.

Lucky for Garrus, several fishermen were wading in the river that day and heard his anguished cries. An older turian with kind gray eyes and familiar blue clan markings reached him first. Garrus was clammy and shivering, his knees curled tight into his chest. The rash on his throat had radiated around to his backside and now extended all the way down to his thighs. His howls had given way to quiet, raspy moans, and he didn't protest when the old fisherman scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder. The smooth, rocking gait of the fisherman lulled little Garrus to sleep as they made their way back to town.

Garrus' mother administered concentrated allergy medication between colorful chastisements for a week, until he fully recovered. It would be a year before she allowed her son to return to the banks of the Capitoline River unaccompanied, but for Garrus it was a lesson learned.

* * *

That fateful day so many years ago was Garrus' first and last brush with the drogha berry, but judging by his fitful scratching, he had never forgotten it. So that was that – drogha berry extract in quarian lube was the figurative thorn in Garrus Vakarian's side. The galaxy really was a small place.

Garrus shuddered at the recollection of it all – his tongue had been so swollen he couldn't speak for three days. When Tali had mentioned she was up for anything, he assumed "anything" didn't include a trip to the med bay. A slightly swollen tongue was one thing, but anaphylactic shock was quite another. Too bad, though; he looked so good in blue.

As Garrus distanced himself from the unsolicited memory, he glanced around the cluster of shops, suddenly hyper-aware that he was the only turian in the quarian enclave of Zakera Ward. A human C-Sec officer stationed near rapid transit gave him a friendly nod. Garrus assumed the slight, tanned man with the cheery eyes was fresh on his post; he looked too optimistic to be anything but a rook. It made him sick to see it, that shiny idealism. It had been a lifetime since Garrus had freed himself from those shackles, but he could never truly escape it, the nagging rot. They were corrupt bastards, all of them. Whether you fought C-Sec bureaucracy and favoritism or Blue Suns savagery, you were swimming against the same tide. They were all after the same thing: more power, more money, a bigger boot to crush more innocent souls under. If anything, the cops were more ruthless; they had a uniform to hide behind and a hell of a lot more to lose. You knew what to expect from a merc, but get in deep with a tainted cop and there'd be a knife at your back while you slept. The merc would boast, but the dirty cop would give your eulogy. Such endemic injustice was too much to bear. Garrus turned abruptly back to the kiosk when he realized he had begun to stare at the poor kid.

He queued up the table of contents to travel to a new section of the catalog, but before he could choose his destination, he was interrupted by a thick, soft Khelish accent.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Garrus looked up from the console to regard the female shopkeeper. Her veil was a deep shade of burgundy with pewter accents and lighter silver patterns that he recognized as ancient Khelish script. The fluorescent lighting on the lower levels of the Ward was harsh enough that he could make out the outline of her eyes and the bridge of her nose through the helmet – her eyes were a bit further apart than Tali's, her nose a bit wider.

"Uh, yeah. I guess so." He'd be there forever otherwise.

"Is this your first time shopping at Visions of Rannoch?"

She spoke confidently, but there was an unobtrusive kindness in her tone that struck him as unusual. She must have been the owner; every other clerk on the Citadel spoke in the same monotonous way that made them sound like literate mechs. There was grit in her voice, too, a toughness that told him this was not her first career, and whatever she did before she landed on the Citadel probably left a body count.

Garrus coughed uncomfortably. He was still rubbing the back of his neck, though now it was more out of habit than nerves. "Yes. First time."

"I see. Well, allow me to welcome you to the premiere destination on the Citadel for dextro-specific pleasurable wares. My name is Maya'Taam vas Qwib-Qwib, and this is my shop." She extended her hand, which Garrus shook warmly.

"Garrus. Vakarian."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vakarian. So tell me," she said casually, dropping a box of impossibly large ball gags on the counter, "what can I interest you in today?"

Garrus simply stood there; it's all he could do. His synapses were firing so fast he thought he might combust if he so much as twitched. Maya'Taam was Qwib-Qwib watched him with gleeful interest – a nervous turian in her shop was old hat, but there was something special about this one: a quiet, roguish eagerness that set him apart from the others, who were interested in nothing but vortex suction machines and copies of "The Morning Score*." She appraised him quickly: long, well-tapered fringe; plates were an agreeable color, if not a bit unusual, yes, and those Cipritine blues implied a family of good stature. Though meticulously polished, his gashed and dented armor had clearly seen battle, but he wore them with confidence and nonchalance, like a favorite tunic that hung in all the right ways, especially at that chiseled waist. Even the bandaged mandible gave him a rakish old-world charm that appealed even to her, and she had long outgrown any desire for a partner. Nonetheless, stammering and mandible twitches aside – and mandibles altogether, of course – this was Sal'Chan vas Haestrom^ in the flesh. His partner was a lucky quarian indeed.

Her customer being of no help whatsoever, Maya swiveled around the catalog console to access his browsing history. Maya grinned as she studied the readout: eighty-nine individual captures, all intimate feminine cleansers used to sanitize the vaginal area for otherwise unprotected intercourse and oral play. This was most delightfully unusual, considering most turians were voracious, single-minded lovers who finished as quickly as they started. A shame too, as Maya knew there was no finer worldly pleasure than enjoying those masterful fuzzed tongues between one's thighs. And here was this charming young man, unwitting turian heartthrob to every quarian female from here to the Veil: a tor'zhan, oh yes, and a gentleman to boot! Maya wondered if his girl knew she was beloved by the greatest dextro catch in the galaxy.

Motor skills having finally returned, Garrus wrung his hands, his eyes shifting between the copies of Fornax plastered on the walls of the booth and the woman who was trying to help him get laid. He was confused, overwhelmed and a just little bit horny. It was weird.

Maya was quiet save for a few sporadic hums until she abruptly snapped the console shut and began moved quickly and with purpose around the booth, as if there were a varren nipping at her heels, though there was really no place to go. She seemed to Garrus the sort who would eat and check her vid-mail in the shower – the hypothetical shower, that is – just to maximize her efficiency.

"Your girlfriend, does she practice?" she called from the opposite end of the booth as she hung beautifully braided himlah3 floggers and platinum-handled paddles from the ceiling with the same routine detachment as Garrus would file his talons and brush his teeth.

Garrus swallowed the lump growing in his throat, his thoughts drifting to the nerve-stim Tali had tested with him, all feedback and purple gasps and foggy breath and delicate gloved fingers clutching his back. _You have no idea_, he wanted to say, but offered her a quizzical stare instead.

Maya let out an amused sigh as she descended her ladder. Despite his good looks and winning personality, this one still had a lot to learn. "I'm sorry, dear. I assumed you knew her eating habits – is she vegan? Does she eat meat?"

As his fantasies continued to assault him, Garrus struggled to think of a response that wouldn't make him sound like a complete lech. "Uh, no, not that I know of. She usually eats nutrient paste and sterilized vegetable rations unless we're on shore leave." He paused again, knowing he was forgetting something that might be important. Ah, right. "Well, she does like turian chocolate. They're made with dairy substitute, so I suppose that's vegan—"

"Indeed," she nodded. Fascinating, a quarian on a turian military ship… Maya had never heard of such an assignment before, and she was well acquainted with the customs of turian ships, having stowed away on one in her more capricious days. Futhermore, the turian government would never allow a girl on her Pilgrimage onto an active vessel – too much sensitive data could be lost or tampered with. There was only one ship in the galaxy that boasted a cross-species team, and that had been … could it be? She studied the man in front of her, suddenly recalling that it had been a human, a turian, and a quarian that led the assault against Saren Arterius two years ago. The chances were astronomical, yet the state of his armor corroborated Maya's deduction. "Thank you, Mr. Vakarian."

"Garrus, please."

"As you wish." She gave a few quick punches to her omni-tool before disappearing beneath the counter again, her voice slightly muffled from the barrier between them and the clang of metal that held her attention. She spoke a bit louder to compensate: "That eliminates our red line of oral products, and I assume you have a gamene intolerance given your reaction to the blue line."

"Something like that," he replied with a small laugh, ignoring the flush that was darkening his neck. No sense in being embarrassed about an allergy when there were quarian sex toys to be dealt with, he figured.

You'd be surprised how common that is, especially in males about your age," she assured, throwing a quick glance in his direction as she continued her frenzied inventory, now placing a small vidscreen near the end of the counter. "But that's neither here nor there, is it? Well, you already know that we have a wide array of products that will suit your needs, and if you don't mind telling me a bit more about yourself and your partner, I'll be able to give you the most appropriate recommendations. I realize our catalog can be quite daunting to the untrained eye."

Garrus should have expected this – to unearth every kink and sexual proclivity in the name of mind-blowing sex – but it disarmed him all the same. Still, he should be as honest as possible. For science or something. And Tali. He did all he could to look unflappable as the vidscreen began to broadcast a series of slaps and satisfied moans followed by a crash of heavy chains.

"'Palladium Dungeon,'" she explained. "Bondage is becoming increasingly popular among young adults. I've sold thirty copies of this vid already, and I received the license codes only yesterday."

Garrus couldn't help but stare and thank the spirits his arousal was concealed by his armor. He focused his rapt attention on the quarian female who hung suspended by her arms and legs from the ceiling with a series of ropes and chains. Her long, dark hair lay in damp waves against her cheeks that sloped like granite, and her plump mouth quivered in anticipation. A fully suited quarian male attached small electric clamps to her rosy nipples, and she cried out at the spark. Her skin was inflamed where the binds dug into her flesh, but the gleam of moisture between her legs implied she was in no mood to complain.

The male moved offscreen for a moment, presumably to retrieve another instrument. While he was gone the female wriggled in her restraints in such a way that she presented her beautiful dark crease to the camera. Before Garrus could memorize her every glorious dip and crevice, the male returned with a bulbous black rod tipped with tiny fiber optic feelers. He had removed the codpiece of his suit, and his member jutted out from between the clasps in such an uncouth way it almost looked as if he were wearing a dildo. He approached the female and slathered her genital area with some kind of lubrication ["That's our cleanser," Maya proclaimed proudly.] before lining up the rod at the delicate pucker of her ass. She moaned as hungrily as Tali did in Garrus' dreams when the male pushed the plug deep inside her and brought his hand to her ample flesh with a resounding smack. The slap sent her swinging and despite the obvious pain the tension was causing her, she whimpered, begging him to bring her to release as the fiber optics tickled her walls, but he responded only with a teasing swipe to her vulva before burying himself in her.

Garrus was lost, so deliciously lost. And now he had ideas. "That's… impressive," he said, clearing his throat. It most certainly was.

She agreed. "It will be a classic."

* * *

Once the warm grip of quarian bondage porn had loosed itself from his groin and he was equipped with everything on Tali's debauched grocery list, Garrus found himself in the back office of Visions of Rannoch. Maya had already probed him – no pun intended – for his sexual history, though it was really nothing to write Palaven about: one long term girlfriend during his time at C-Sec and a smattering of one-night stands and third dates gone wrong. They even discussed the dreams he'd been having.

"This is your first time together, is it not?"

"Yes. Well, sort of," he corrected. "She's still recovering from a high fever, but she's been taking a lot of supplements and is being monitored by our ship's physician, so we wanted to try some partial suit removal. We haven't linked yet, and we don't want to until she's fully healed."

Maya nodded; that was just what she wanted to hear. Too often she convened with young women who became violently ill after linking suits with their partners without taking proper precautions.

"I'm no doctor, but it sounds as if you two are doing everything just right. Just make sure to file your talons before _any_ skin-on-skin contact," she advised, glancing down at his talons. "Do you mind?"

Garrus was not in the habit of flashing his talons to just anyone, and certainly not under the bright lights of Zakera Ward, but he obliged, and Maya clucked her tongue in disapproval.

"No, no, no. They're too long. You're a soldier, right?" He nodded. "You keep them sharp for close combat?" Again.

Garrus frowned. A good turian never clipped his talons, but then again he never was a very good turian. And he was a sniper anyway, damn it; if he couldn't hit a target from two thousand meters, a nasty pair of claws sure wouldn't save him. "Consider it done. What else?"

"Well, I think we've hit all the necessities, but there is always the matter of preference," she replied, motioning to the plethora of exciting merchandise that lined the walls. "I couldn't help but notice how much you enjoyed that vid. Have you two discussed more interesting activities?"

"I, ah… yeah. She's been very… brazen… in the last few days, so I think she would be amenable to it, but I don't want to get ahead of myself."

"I understand. It's a tough subject to broach, especially early on in a relationship. If I may, though, I carry a kit that is a perfect segue into light BDSM," Maya said as she brought up a screen on her omni-tool. Garrus was never one to dismiss good advice, so into his queue it went.

Once he had purchased enough cleanser, lozenges, and toys to last until the next Reaper invasion, Garrus thanked the shopkeeper again for her help and extended his hand to her, this time in friendship.

"You have a remarkable voice, if you don't mind my saying."

Garrus flicked his mandibles politely in thanks, but he had been the recipient of such a compliment more times than he could recall and it had completely lost its meaning. It was a well-established joke among turian males that untethering their harmonics could make any xeno-leaning quarian or human female cream her pants. Although Garrus found that particular euphemism a bit blue and rather uninspired, he agreed with the sentiment and intended to find out just how true it was.

"I don't want to presume anything," she continued, now quite confident she understood what these young lovebirds needed, "but I think your girlfriend would be most pleased if you made _full_ use of it."

What an interesting turn of events. Garrus leaned forward onto his elbows and tented his hands. "You read my mind."

"That's what I do."

* * *

**The Morning Score**: The bestselling pornographic vid of 2172, a rousing, albeit historically inaccurate account of the geth incursion, in which quarian vidstar Jara'Shir is brutally violated by 500 geth trooper units. The Morning Score was the first vid to feature real geth units, all of which were rebuilt from salvage components collected in secret by Captain Rael'Zorah in the late 2160s.

**Sal'Chan vas Haestrom**: The biochemist-turned-quarian-leader of civilian guerrilla fighters on Haestrom during the Battle of the Rim in 1896. In addition to being a skilled, if not formally trained, warrior, Sal'Chan has been depicted as having "eyes the color of Manaa crystal, a jaw that could withstand a thousand blows, and an intellect that could undress a woman before she even entered the room."

**Himlah**: A versatile and useful plant grown on the liveships. Himlah plants are most commonly refined into fiber for rope and bioplastic, but it can also be used as a food garnish.


	3. Chapter 3: Interludes and Thresher Maws

garvak: …and what else?

talizo: what do you mean?

garvak: this list. i need more details. dont know what any of this is

talizo: you seemed quite sure of yourself yesterday

garvak: come on tali

talizo: youre clever for a turian. put that csec training to good use.

garvak: i might have considered staying in csec if quarian mating rituals had been part of the curriculum

talizo: that kind of talk only works when I can hear you garrus

garvak: ha right

talizo: oh it looks like gabby needs help in the engine room. i better go. good luck, shal'ven brea das

garvak: im going to have so much fun repaying you for all your "help" here tali [ATTENTION USER "garvak": MESSAGE UNSENT – RECIPIENT "talizo" DISCONNECTED]

Tali smiled at the certain blue-faced embarrassment Garrus was about to experience at the hands of the flotilla's most infamous bounty hunter-turned-respectable-shop owner. Maya'Taam's ties to the admiralty board seemed tenuous at best before she was granted honorable leave to serve the flotilla in Citadel space, but the way she rested her hand on Zaal'Koris' knee during her trial insinuated he was captaining more than just her ship. Tali didn't much care about the gossip her auntie Raan leveled upon her in her daily vid-mails, but when the topic of bondage shops on the Citadel was finally broached, it was discussed with relish by both parties.

And truth be told, Gabby and Ken were both off-duty and playing Skyllian-Five with Grunt in the cargo hold, but Garrus needn't know that Tali was alone in engineering and a few tweaks away from finishing her most realistic nerve-stim program yet. He also didn't need to know she had been testing it all morning, nor that she had already come twice and was riding a blissful wave toward a third. He had to work to acquire that kind of knowledge, and a good quarian mechanic never turned down an extra hand.

The hologram in her visor flickered as she played with the color saturation: a little more indigo in the paint, a little less azure in the eyes. The waist was properly supportive and the legs – keelah, those legs – were just as sculpted as the originals. Visuals were optimal, but if the last parameter was off, all her work would be for naught.

"Scoped and dropped!" the miniature doppelganger exclaimed.

The inflection was good, harmonics the right timbre, but the phrase was spoken too quickly. An easy fix. Tali made the necessary adjustments and immediately found herself gasping and gripping the console with both white-knuckled hands. Despite her arousal, the temporary drop in her heart rate had caused the program to go into overdrive, and the simulated turian cock was riding her right into a menacing climax.

"Never saw me coming!"

If it were Garrus stretching her so, she certainly would.

"Bag 'em and tag 'em!"

Not a great choice especially considering she could have recorded him the night before and chose not to, but Tali was in no position to be choosy. She closed her eyes and allowed the ravenous glow to envelop her. She could practically taste the stars that pricked her eyelids with their translucent sparks.

"One less to worry about!"

_Yes, perfect pitch, _she thought, _soft and gritty and deep like… oh, keelah…_

"I love this rifle!"

And with that inelegant outcry, Tali rode out her third parve'la ma'vet bent trembling over her console in near silence, save for the relieved sighs that escaped her as the last of the glorious knots in her womb unwound itself. She sank onto the floor and unfurled with nary a peep, spreading her arms out as wide as she could, savoring the sweet burn of the stretch. For the first time all morning she spoke into the empty room with a smile so wide it hurt.

"It's still no match for my shotgun."

Tali was still gazing at the ceiling in the quiet throes of her afterglow when the intercom buzzed. She groaned at the intrusion and couldn't help muttering to herself as she stood. Couldn't a girl get a moment to recover from her bullet train of orgasms in peace? "Yes, hello?" She hadn't meant to bark, but she had, and her words came out like punctuated thistles.

"Tali, it's Doctor Chakwas. Do you have a moment?"

Tali never understood why Shepard spent so much time with Chakwas. She admired the doctor's professionalism and her superb knowledge of dextrorotary chirality, but the way Shepard spoke of their chats in the med bay, you'd think there was a top-shelf wet bar hidden in the AI core.

"Of course, what is it?" How strange – she had just seen Chakwas three days ago, and all her vitals had been at acceptable levels.

"I'd prefer to discuss it in the med bay." She paused a moment, then, as if she anticipated Tali's response, continued more hurriedly. "There's nothing the matter, but it is somewhat sensitive. Please come up when you can."

No, this was not a woman who let her hair down. No fun, all business – that was the Chakwas she knew.

"Ok. I'll be there in five minutes."

Tali didn't return from the med bay until the shore party was already planet-side. She'd never admit it, but she couldn't help but resent Shepard every time she was left behind. Her latest suit rupture had kept her off Illium, and now she was barred from setting foot on Tuchanka because of some nonsense involving filter-borne scale itch. Still, it was a lot easier to sweet-talk Garrus over the comm. when one of them was on the Normandy.

"I just had the most interesting conversation with Dr. Chakwas."

"Oh?"

"Did you know she keeps a stockpile of turian brandy in her supply closet?"

"Maybe."

"And you never shared with me?"

"You never asked."

"A gentleman should offer, Garrus."

"When I'm not knee-deep in pyjacks I'll keep that in mind. But you'll have to say please."

"That's all it takes? Just one little 'please?'"

"Among other things. But the rest I'm flexible on."

Tali laughed. "With those spurs? You and I both know I'm the flexible one."

"I know. And I'm _really_ looking forward to finding out to what degree."

"Only if you say please."

"For that, I'll say anything you want." And he wasn't kidding.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Like what? Indulge me."

"Indulge you, huh?" He searched the rubble for a solitary place to hide until the tell-tale whirr of Tali's nerve stim gave him uncharacteristic hubris. "Hmmm," he pondered, drawing out the reverberations for her.

"Words, Garrus. I can hear you purr when you sleep."

"I do _not_ purr. But you're lucky I like when you sass me."

"Zorahs do not sass. We chide. There is a difference." It was an important distinction.

"No, you sass. You chide Donnelly for screwing up his diagnostics. You sass me because you want me." If nothing else, Garrus was an astute investigator. There were still some aspects of his time with C-Sec that served him well.

"Now you're just stalling."

"Sorry. Where was I?" He rumbled again, as if in deep thought, then cleared his throat with a cough, his voice suddenly an octave lower. "Right. So, uh, aside from wanting to fuck you senseless – because you already knew that, right? – I want to watch you get yourself off. But not with the nerve stim."

"Oh?" Was the engine overheating? It was so hot all of a sudden.

"I want to see you stretch yourself with your fingers. No gloves. Show me…" His voice wavered, sub-harmonics throbbing with poorly concealed lust, "…what you want me to do. Prep yourself for me. I want to see how deep and tight you are, and then I want to lick your fingers clean."

Tali nearly collapsed at the thought of it all: spreading herself for him, letting him watch but not touch. What delirious torture. "That… that will be good," was all she could muster before a piercing shriek in the background cut her off. Shepard's litany of "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" implied it wasn't just varren they were fighting. Leave it to the krogan to bring in feral vorcha or worse, just for kicks.

Once the horrible wails and flurry of bullets subsided, Garrus returned to the comm., exhaustion hanging heavy on every word. "Damn, klixen are hard to kill. Did you know they explode if you hit them in the thorax? Never seen anything like that before." He paused to wipe his brow and survey the charred, ancient battlegrounds surrounding him. "I've never seen so many full power cells and dead krogran before – there is nothing but war here. I wonder how many people have died right where I'm standing."

"That's one of the many reasons I like you, Vakarian – always the optimist."

"Just been on my mind lately."

His voice tightened, and Tali swore she caught an edge of remorse in his sub-harmonics. What could she say that would be anything more than deflection? The souls of dead friends can't be avenged with a few hollow words. "What's happening now?"

"We're between waves. The varren were easy kills but these klixen are brutal. Neither Wrex nor the shaman would tell us what we'd be up against, and now I understand why."

"So that's how krogan celebrate puberty?" Tali asked. "Shotguns, burning rubble, and giant poisonous lobsters?"

"Seems like it," he replied. "Now what were you saying about Chakwas? Shepard is stockpiling medi-gel and raiding corpses for credits, so I have some time, I think."

"Well, did you know that she had a fling with a certain Council mem—"

A patter of static interrupted her. "_Damn it, Grunt! Friendly fire!_ I better go, Tali. Show this kid how things are done. "

"Remind me to tell you about quarian adolescence when you get back. I think you'll find it illuminating."

"Tease. I can't wa—"

It wasn't until after the comm. shorted out that she recognized the gritty, roaring howl that drowned him out and made her skin weave slick over cold. Those three would need all the power cells they could find.

One angry thresher maw and a parliament of slain Gatatogs later, Shepard was picking chunks of maw carcass from Grunt's crest – right in the mess hall, to Gardner's great chagrin – while Garrus regaled the whole crew with the heroic tale without a single exaggeration.

"And then it burst out from the rocks," he proclaimed as he threw one of Grunt's action figures into the air, "and went right for my eyes. If it hadn't been for my visor, I'd have been a goner!"

Shepard snorted and jammed a fist into his side. "Bullshit, Vakarian! You were crouched behind that pillar because your rifle jammed."

Okay, maybe _one_ exaggeration.

Garrus gave a friendly punch right back. He was telling a story here; a little embellishment never hurt anyone. "Those thermal clips were practically rusting, Shepard. If you didn't have that particle beam, yours would have done the same thing."

"Still, the turian did get the kill-shot," Grunt muttered, jabbing his fork into his oatmeal with more force than usual.

"Now, now, Grunt. When you have Archangel and the hero of the Citadel as your krannt, some harsh competition is to be expected. There are plenty more thresher maws out there for you to mutilate." Garrus slung his arm around Tali's shoulder and chuckled at the krogan's bared teeth when Grunt snatched away the miniature maw and absconded into the elevator.

Jack shook her head with her usual mock indignation. "You mean you two assholes couldn't rein yourselves in long enough to let the kid win at his own game?"

"You should have seen those two on Noveria," Tali interjected. "Shepard didn't bring Liara to question her own mother."

"That's pretty harsh, Shepard," Jacob quipped from behind the counter.

Leave it to Taylor to provide unsolicited commentary, Garrus thought. It was an accurate assessment, of course, but the Cerberus officer hadn't earned the right to voice it.

"Yeah, yeah," Shepard grumbled with an amused huff. "Thanks so very much for all your continued support, guys."

With Grunt stewing in the cargo hold, Shepard and the rest of the crew disbanded quickly, leaving Garrus and Tali alone in the mess hall. Without a word, he scooped her up and carried her back into the battery. They had some catching up to do.

* * *

shal'ven brea das - Literally: "pollen for the spring flowers." Used in some vernaculars as a term of endearment.

parve'la ma'vet - Khelish for "beautiful little death" – euphemistic for the female orgasm.


	4. Chapter 4: Variations on a Theme

A/N: Thanks so much for all the favorites, comments, and follows! I took some liberties with the epilogue here, but I really wanted to tie this little fic in with the events of ME2. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Tali fidgeted all the way to his cot, but that didn't stop her from running her hands over his fringe and unclasping every piece of his armor she could reach as they went. Once Garrus had deposited her on the bed and she had divested him (still smelling of dust and blood) of all but his gauntlets and boots – which soon lay in a heap with the rest of his discarded gear – he pulled her onto his lap with a throaty groan, relishing the squeeze of her thighs and the opportunity that lay ahead of him.

"So, the good doctor and Councilor Sparatus were once an item, huh? Explains the brandy."

"Still an item," she corrected, admiring the twist of muscles in his cowl as she drew her hands across his chest, "if that stockpile is any indication. She said they met during the Contact War, both of them scouts. They got marooned in a cave without supplies, had to huddle for warmth. One thing led to another…"

It sounded like the plot of a bad vid, exaggerated for dramatic effect, perhaps even warped over time by deepened admiration; he had no way to tell, nor did he particularly care. Garrus was certain Chakwas had leveled all manner of unwanted tactical advice on Tali, and while he wouldn't turn down a demonstration, she deserved a night of uninterrupted worship and he'd be damned if he didn't give it to her.

Mirroring Tali's movements, Garrus marveled at the weight of her breasts as he palmed them, imagined them swinging like beautiful pendulums in tandem with his thrusts. Her nipples peaked up under his fingers, even through the suit, and he continued his taunts as she gasped and writhed against him.

"You know, that shop on the Wards really got me thinking. You could have sent me their extranet link, even bought the stuff yourself, but you chose to send me there. Why, I wonder? Is there something you wanted me to see?"

Without warning he wrapped his legs around hers and flipped them. Humming against her veil, he slid his hands down to her waist, not quite giving her the pressure she sought, though she gasped at the change in contact and immediately arched up into his touch.

"I think there's a specific topic you didn't know how to broach with me," he murmured, slowly rolling his hips into her, "so you insinuated it instead by sending me on your little errand."

She couldn't stop the smile that tugged at the ends of her mouth. A worthwhile gamble indeed, sending him to Maya. "Is that so?"

"Mmm-hmm," he crooned. "I also think…"

With one last snap of his hips, he released his grip on her waist and lifted her to her feet, motioning for her to stand by his console while he grabbed a black duffle from under his cot. He unzipped it slowly and produced a pair of detailed himlah cuffs, braided together in the same style as the floggers on display at the shop.

"… someone has a bit of a fetish. One I might be inclined to oblige if you do as I tell you."

He was shaking – either from nerves or excitement, he wasn't sure – when he slipped the cuffs around her wrists. Probably both. It wouldn't have been the first time she brought this confused delirium out of him. He had intended to take his time with this, to coax the pleasure out of her slowly, but the pulsing throb of his dick dictated it all: he had neither the patience nor the stamina to make her wait. The two exchanged hushed words ("If I go too far, we can stop." "I'll be fine, Garrus.") before he kissed her bound hands and lifted them over her head.

The blood rushed to her cheeks like he had flipped a switch; not out of embarrassment or even giddiness, but because she had underestimated his ability to surprise her. Her technological prowess made any sensation possible with a few program tweaks, but when the tor'zhan cuffing her hands to the pipes above the Thanix flashed that thick tongue as he caressed the small of her back, the holographic fantasies faded to ether and she lost herself in a reality better than any she could imagine.

Tali's arms now held taut above her head, Garrus admired the new, tighter warp of her curves as she stretched up tall onto the balls of her feet. He smacked her ass hard and lingered there, allowing his blunted talons to sink in, just a little. Tali rewarded his attention with a long breathy moan that he knew was exaggerated – another attempt at dirty talk for his benefit, he figured – but she wouldn't be embellishing her reactions for long.

"You like that, huh?"

"Mmm."

"Good girl. Spread your legs for me."

Tali shimmied her legs apart as far as her height would allow – about a foot or so. Garrus appraised the distance and grabbed a pair of small crates and placed them under her feet, sliding them along the floor grating until her legs were stretched as far as she could manage. What a sight she was, endless legs giving way to serpentine hips (spirits, his talons would touch if he grabbed her around the middle) up to those perfect, magnificent tits.

He worked her up slowly, testing her tolerance and flexibility with his newly acquired arsenal. She was a hell of an acrobat, flexing her back like a felis when he flicked a riding crop between her legs or removed a different piece of her suit and lit tiny electrical shocks across her bare skin. He never exposed more than one section at a time, teasing her instead with little welts, cool breath, and a rough blue tongue on patchwork flesh.

It felt like getting spaced – at least how she imagined it, before everything glossed over black and the vacuum swallowed your screams: she was everywhere, could see everything, was simultaneously tugged apart and pieced back together every time he touched her with one of his wonderful toys. She felt like a pret'arn, one of the savage priestesses of the ancient days who lived in dense jungles and came back to camp smelling of blood and the hunt, who would tell men of their futures and bed them under canopies of leaf and star while they whooped and sang into the night. She was alive, thrumming, _aware_. She felt each drop of sweat erupt as it wept from her pores; her vision narrowed, clouded; she poured out into his hands. She pleaded for him to remove the helmet, to touch her and kiss her and gag her and bend her over the console, but Garrus responded with only a smirk and a gentle hand on her throat that massaged the delicious heat deep into her belly.

"Tsk-tsk," he chided. "Already giving me orders when I haven't even touched you yet. Well, not where you want me to. Not … here."

He sank to his knees as he spoke, his mouth so close to her center he could have brought her to the edge with little more than a breath, suit be damned, considering how she shook in the restraints. He rubbed a deep valley between her legs, fabric slicking over hot even though he purposely avoided the sweet cluster of nerves at her apex. "Mmmm. For such a tease you get excited pretty quickly. Maybe we need to take a break, move a little slower."

She hated him. True, blinding hatred. But keelah, he was so _good_. And when his meandering talons pressed insistently at her entrance, she snapped. "Come on – ahh! – you bosh'tet!"

The spark he sent crackling across her sex echoed through the battery like a shot. "Ah-ah. Such filthy language." Nifty thing, that lightning rod.

Her biometrics were off the charts – spirits, she really was getting off on this. It had been a challenge at first, speaking to her as he was, but being rewarded with such… unbridled enthusiasm… really bolstered his confidence.

"Please. Please, Garrus, _mina_, please!"

He could have teased her forever, watching her tense up and shriek like some otherworldly thing as he plucked her like a bow. But he could no longer ignore her murky tang that saturated the air and clung to his loins, and she _did_ say please. Garrus Vakarian, after all, was a sucker for good manners.

When the hiss of Tali's pelvic plate opened her up to the world and two large, lubricated talons sank into her yielding virgin flesh, any pretense of restraint was gone and she howled as the numb warmth of the cleanser – and his hands – radiated through her. She turned her knees out to open her hips to him, but she was already up on the tips of her claws and her moans turned to frustrated grunts as she struggled to angle herself into him without losing her footing.

Garrus, of course, made no attempt to aid her, thinking as he always did that a little good-natured mischief was the best remedy.

"Those stim programs of yours can't penetrate you like I can. You wish it was my cock inside you, don't you?"

They both knew they couldn't, not so soon after Tuchanka. She shook her head in some approximation of a nod before craning her neck back in a silent moan, allowing the intensity of the stretch of his thick fingers to burn up her spine through every last synapse.

Fuck, she was a sight, better than the girl in the bondage vid. "Such a dirty girl, Tali," he growled as he spread her folds and curled his talons into her tight walls. "But not tonight. I want to look at that gorgeous face of yours the first time I fuck you."

Spirits, what he'd do to have her in a clean room – they'd make love slowly because they could; no need to pay mind to the efficacy of sanitizers or immuno-boosters. He'd peel her out of the suit and cast aside the helmet, lay her on her back or on all fours – she'd like that, he thought, if he took her from behind. She'd take him into her mouth and look into his eyes while she did and he'd come on her face in hot stripes and then plunge his tongue stiff into her cunt until she spasmed into his greedy mouth.

But they weren't in a clean room, so Garrus had to get creative.

He hoisted her legs up onto his shoulders and gripped her hips to support her as he kissed her thighs and flicked his tongue over her little knot before sinking his tongue deep into her center. He tasted her slowly, exploring her and savoring every gasp and murmur and twitch of her thighs as she threw her head back and rocked her hips into him.

"You taste so good," he groaned into her, nipping her thigh at the edge of her suit. "My beautiful girl..."

He circled her clit and sucked it gently, his hands kneading her hips as she bucked into him. He ran his tongue flat up the length of her before sliding back into her glorious cunt so he could the glistening sweetness out of her until she was shaking and babbling like an oracle. He had brought her to the edge so many times already that her heels were already digging into his carapace when she implored him through tears as she contracted around his tongue for release, finally, finally.

"Please, Garrus, ankida, -kida… sha'rur!" she wailed, wrenching her hands in vain against the cuffs. She ground her clit into his nose and whimpered, cursed, – no, keelah, she _begged_ so incoherently that her Common gave way to full Khelish and she began invoking gods so obscure her translator glitched and Garrus could make out nothing but his name and white noise as her legs clenched tight against his face and she rode him through the crest of a parve'la ma'vet so explosive she swore the ancestors lifted them up into the heavens as she went limp around him.

She's floating and shivering in her afterglow when Garrus unhooks the cuffs and gathers her into his arms. Before sealing her suit, he treats the plum bruises until they fade, then tends to her earlier wounds with the same devout care, lavishing her with kisses and loving flutters as he goes.

The scent of her still hangs damp in the air like a fog when he pulls her into his chest and draws a hand across her chest to rest on her shoulder. "Good?"

"Mmmph," she mutters. She scoots back into his lap so he can lock his knees behind hers. Now there is nothing else for either to say, only to rest.

* * *

Tali lets him hold her until they both succumb to sleep. She awakes eventually in a cool haze, and finds herself swaying on the deck of a great ship bound for a rocky shore in the distance. The spray of the sea splashes onto the boards beneath her feet; she can smell the briny weeds and the lacquer from the wood stain. The salt reddens her eyes, so she rubs them – what a strange feeling, to rub one's eyelids. They feel like parchment or animal hide, thin and flexible, barely more than a membrane. She can't see the faces of the people around her, but they are familiar. One of them takes her hand. His gaze, too, is fixed on the inky horizon that is saturated like dusk, though she can feel the sun on her back. The man leans in close to whisper to her, but he is drowned out by the clash of waves on the hull. The winds are favorable, the sails strong, and the shore approaches quickly. Huge formations of craggy rock dot the beach and extend into the vast desert behind it. She knows this place – it is all she knows – but she's not been here before.

As they pull into dock the man at her side points to a hill nestled between two of the broad mountains that overlook the sea. There is a modest cottage there, hardly larger than a hut, with a thatched roof and a trellised garden out front, just as she always imagined. The man cocks his head, whether in thought or jest she can't tell, and slowly brings his thumbs and forefingers together into a makeshift square around the small plot. It is his.

He squeezes her hand tighter when he speaks again. "After time adrift among open stars, along tides of light and through shoals of dust…" His voice is soft and slow and warbling with grief, but this time she hears him.

She recalls the rest, and she nearly buckles under their gravity. She is unworthy of the words, but she speaks them with as much grace as she can. "I will return… to where I began."

The man finally turns to face her: he is quarian too, though he wears neither suit nor mask. His eyes are bright like chips of glass and they slope down at the ends, as if in permanent sadness. There is a new hunch in his shoulders; he looks so frail a strong breeze might whisk him away.

He reaches out to frame her face with rough hands, and she smiles. A choked laugh escapes him when Tali presses her knuckles to his lips – a gesture of inarticulate love that he hasn't earned, never even tried – and when the tears come cascading onto her wrists he nods and turns away. He cannot see her now.

"Don't cry," she says to the man with the sad eyes that look like hers. "I am here with you, Father."

"I'm sorry, Tali," he whispers, grazing his cheek against hers. "I'm sorry." He repeats it again and again into the strands of her hair until the great grey birds fly overhead and the clouds begin to gather. "I must go. I love you, my brilliant daughter. Keelah se'lai."

She doesn't understand why he pulls away from her – always pulling away, even in her dreams – and she clenches her eyes shut so she can spare herself the pain of watching him leave. She hears his voice in the trees and expects to see him ascending the narrow steps of the high road when she looks upon the shore again, but he is gone.

Her dream gives way to lucidity quietly and without circumstance, but it isn't until she's extricated herself from the sharp tangle of limbs and awoken Garrus that she suspects her father is dead. She tells Garrus of the towering rocks and the breeze on her face, her tired father with the sad eyes and the touch of his hands, the cloaked darkness of day and that cottage on the hill, the house on the homeworld.

She can tell by the way he rubs her back in tightly measured circles that he doesn't understand – who could? – but he does what she requires of him – he listens as she reminisces: the detached disinterest, the orders, always pushing her to be better, chastising her when she falls short and even when she doesn't.

The message comes through like any other, hidden among dozens of spam messages. She assumes it's about Veetor's progress, maybe a commendation for Kal'Reegar. Sporadic updates from the migrant fleet are not uncommon, after all, and her trip to Haestrom would have been a complete waste without them, but this, no, the stark formality, the boilerplate…

_Attention, Tali'Zorah vas Neema:_

_By imperial order of the Conclave of the Migrant Fleet under Rule 74.1.3… _

"It's a summons."

… _presence is required on the Rayya…_

"A summons? For what?"

… _serve outside the Veil, you have fifteen (15) galactic standard days to comply with this order…_

She pores through the message again; no, no, that can't be right. Bewildered, she closes the holo and for the first time in two years she's thankful he can't see her through the helmet.

"They're charging me with treason."

* * *

**felis** – a small, warm-blooded mammal native to Palaven that is unique for its floating vertebrae.

**pret'arn** – a member of the band of nomadic warrior women who roamed the jungles of western Rannoch between 400 and 600 CE.

**mina** - Literally: "I desire." As there is no Khelish word for "please," the closest approximation is a derivative form of the verb _minet'ta_, "to desire."

**ankida** – a sacred place in quarian lore where the heavens meet the soil.

**sha'rur** – Khelish for "great hunter."


End file.
